


Jealousy

by Milkyway_Bread



Series: The Lines Between the Legend [1]
Category: Arslan Senki | Heroic Legend of Arslan
Genre: Angst, Arslan is Bad at Feelings, Arslan is a Good Person, Arslan is human, Arslan loves his people, Arslan need a Hug, Arslan needs a break, Gen, Introspection, Jealousy, Like, Non-Binary Etoile, Self-Esteem Issues, Unhappy Ending, and a child, and a teenager, kids being kids, really bad, self-deprication, which means teenage angst!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:20:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29534664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milkyway_Bread/pseuds/Milkyway_Bread
Summary: Arslan watched Etoile, Elam and Alfreed bicker, their realtionship blossoming into friendship, though they would be the last to admit it. He smiled, even as he felt a slow curl of bitterness in his chest. Arslan loved his friends so, so much. And he was jealous of them.Or, Arslan is not a saint, and the world is unfair.
Relationships: Arslan & Arslan's Camp
Series: The Lines Between the Legend [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2169816
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Jealousy

Etoile was fumbling around with the child in their arms, clearly not sure what to do with it. They were panicking, mixing up Parsian words with Lusitanian ones, and it was as endearing as it was hilarious.

Elam was on the scene instantly, waving his arms around to help calm them. The baby or Etoile, no one was sure, but it was only causing even more panic. For all his claims, Elam had not dealt with children in a long time ( _no_ , Narsus and Daryuun didn't count, even though they should, sometimes). Fortunately, Alfreed arrived, taking the baby into her arms.

"You're really bad at this, huh?" Alfreed asked.

"Am not!" Etoile complained, "I love children. They just don't love me."

Elam smiled mischievously, "What a surprise ..."

"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?"

"BOTH OF YOU SHUT UP, YOU'LL -"

Too late. The baby started wailing again, it's cries drawing the attention of many soldiers. Some frowned, but many cooed at the sight.

There was something about children that people couldn't help but melt at.

Arslan would know, of course. He would love to meet the baby, but he dragged his focus back to Daryun.

"Your Highness?" Daryun asked, "You seem distracted."

Arslan smiled, this perfect little thing. There was very little that Arslan was competent at, but smiling was one of them. A flawless quirk, just enough wrinkling around his eyes, lips pink and eyes sparkling. It never failed to put his people at ease.

Arslan prided himself in his smile. He _liked_ doing it, especially when it was genuine. He adored his people, and he would do anything to make them like him back.

But even as Arslan smiled, he felt a slow curl of bitterness in his chest.

* * *

Arslan was under no impression that he was a saint.

Everyone else seemed to think he was, and he let them, because he knew that King's cultivated images and Arslan would have to do the same. He would rather be a saint than a tyrant, a weakling than a overlord.

But Arslan was no saint.

He felt the prickle of annoyance, the hum or anger, the throb of dislike, as every human did. Maybe not as often or not as strongly, but he felt it. He simply pushed it aside as unimportant.

He didn't know where it started, this curl of bitterness every time he saw Elam and Alfreed. When it had only been Elam, he had not felt it, because there was still a chance for friendship ( _slim, impossible, but_ it was there). And Alfreed's arrival had only made Arslan shift his focus to extend that hope to both of them.

Elam and Alfreed were, in a sense, his friends. Same as all his allies.

Arslan knew it wasn't like they had it easy. Elam was in charge of provisions, and Alfreed was an incredible scout. Their days were hard, as it would be for children caught up in war. Arslan never forgot that.

No, he constantly reminded himself of that, because he _had to_. It kept the bitterness away.

Arlsan loved them. He loved Elam's tales of far off countries and Alfreed's ringing laughter. He loved watching the two compete over the silliest things for Narsus' attention, and still being on the same page when it was needed the most. Arslan loved them, loved how the two were so close now, bickering and fighting and laughing and smiling _together_.

Arslan loved them and he was so, _so_ jealous.

He knows those emotions well, by now. It was ugly and pathetic and Arslan could only hate himself for it.

But he can ignore it easily. In the thunderstorm that was getting through his everyday life, Arslan learned to ignore such feelings. Every moment he had with his friends, he cherished, and he refused to let them be tinged with negative emotions.

And he knew, of course, that if he ever voiced his insecurities, they would comfort him.

But Arslan also knew.

He is their Prince, first and foremost.

He is a saint, first and foremost.

And Princes didn't have insecurities. Saints did not feel bitterness.

Arslan had friends. His friends had a Prince.

Elam and Alfreed went about their duties as usual, and Arslan went about his. And perhaps his friends were more carefree, without the weight of the world on their shoulders. Perhaps they were closer than Arslan could ever hope to be with them. It was not their fault, no more than it was Arslan's.

It's awful of him, to be envious of something that no one had no control over.

(It was awful, but Arslan was no saint.

The curl of bitterness was slow and hard to ignore.)

* * *

Etoile was a different story from Elam and Alfreed, and still much the same.

It's not unusual for Arlsan to like people, enemy or not. Etoile was no different. Arslan was very adept at finding the good in people, and Etoile had a lot of good. They were loud and passionate and Arslan, unambitious and numb, couldn't help but feel his own nerves get excited.

Their enthusiasm was very contagious.

Arslan liked Etoile, and when they made fast friends with Elam and Alfreed (thought not a _single_ one of those three would call it friendship), Arslan didn't stop grinning for three days straight.

The three of them were. So. Adorable.

"I'm glad," he told Narsus when the man reported that the three were arguing again.

Narsus looked at him incredulously. Arslan hastened to clarify.

"I'm glad that they are getting along," he smiled wider, "Though, I do wish they wouldn't argue."

"They're little hell hounds," Gieve shrugged, eyes gleaming, "Maybe we can set them loose on Lusitania!"

The group paused, considering.

Arslan felt laughter bubble up his throat, and he let himself do it. It was liberating, to be able to laugh in front of his friends, even if he kept the volume and timbre under careful control.

They went back to their meeting after that, and Arslan's mood stayed positive. He knew his friends were trying to do it intentionally, if Daryun's glances were anything to go by. And indeed, the thought of Arslan's friends and Geive's jesting nature put Arslan at ease.

But resentment was stronger than a few jokes. It came back to him that night.

It's not resentment at his friends (Etoile included now, inevitably), of course. It could never be. But it was resentment aimed at himself.

Because really, there was no need to be _jealous_.

Arslan knew that many were jealous of _him_ , and it was an uncomfortable feeling. Of course, none of the people who truly knew him envied him, but to think that some people out there did was already strange. He didn't want anyone else to feel the same discomfort.

But emotions were not like his subjects, they did not obey Arslan's whims.

Arslan sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to ease the clenching in his chest as he thought of his friends. Outside the tent, he could hear Alfreed laughing.

He turned back to the paperwork Narsus had asked him to review. Said man was nearby, hovering in case Arslan had any questions. He was grateful to the man of course, knowing how hard he had worked, but he also felt the ire that rose in him.

Arslan knew this was another one of Narsus' tricks. There was probably something in the papers that he wanted Arslan to pick out and analyse, to teach him to do so with future paperwork. Arslan was grateful for these backhanded lessons - they made him feel useful - but he couldn't help but feel ... _distracted._

Outside, some soldiers passed, calling out their thanks to Elam for one reason or another. It was nice that the boy was getting appreciated.

 _Focus_ , Arslan told himself.

Narsus' eyes narrowed, "Your Highness, is something the matter?"

"Not at all," Arslan said with a smile. Then admitted, "I have a hard time focusing. It would seem I have a headache."

It was easy to lie.

It was even easier to smile.

"Ah," Narsus said, sympathetic, "Perhaps we can pick this up some other time - "

"No!" Arslan blurted out (cringing inwadly, becuase Prince's did not _blurt_ ), "It's okay."

If he didn't get through this now, if he couldn't push his emotions aside and _focus_ , what type of a Prince was he?

"Please don't overwork yourself, my Prince."

"I could say the same to you."

Narsus conceded. Arslan went back to the paperwork and let his emotions dissolve.

He convinced himself that this was only fair. Elam and Alfreed and even Etoile had their uses. They performed their duties. Arslan, so far, was useless in all the ways that mattered. He was just a figurehead.

And until he could perform his own duties to perfection, he had no reason to feel jealous of those who had already performed their duties, and were now spending their free time happily.

(It didn't matter, of course, that Arslan was younger than them, and that his work would never end.)

* * *

When Arslan had been younger, _much_ younger, before the Palace and before the cold walls took over his life, he had loved being outside.

He was a mischievous child, as children usually were. He climbed trees and splashed around in lakes. He had friends he would laugh with and sword-fight using sticks.

When Arslan was younger, _much_ younger, he had been a kid.

And then he turned nine.

Some days, he wondered what it was like, to feel grass and soil beneath bare-foot. To be among people your age and smile without wondering if you were smiling right, laugh without worrying about being too loud.

Some days, he wondered what it was like, to _be_ Elam and Alfreed and Etoile.

* * *

He was jealous.

Arslan sighed, disappointed in himself. Honestly. Some Prince he was.

"Elam was born a slave, Etoile saw their people die, Alfreed lost her father," Arslan told Azrael, "Compared to them, I am living lavishly. Compared to anyone in this camp. I should be more grateful."

Azrael trilled sadly.

"I _am_ grateful."

And he was a little envious. Just a _little_.

With an indignant huff, Arslan thought he had every right to be.

Azrael pushed his head against Arslan's cheek. The young prince smiled widely.

"You're right," he whispered, "They definitely don't have you."

He had nothing to be jealous of.

That didn't stop him.

He wasn't angry about it, of course. He very rarely got angry.

Mostly, it just made him sad.

* * *

When Arslan turned nine, he learned many valuable lessons.

He learned not to cry.

He learned to smile.

He learned that hatred, bitterness, resentment, would never make him the man he wanted to be.

Because even at nine, Arslan had looked to the court, to their cruelty, and knew that that was not who he wanted to be.

Arslan was fourteen now, and he didn't know _who_ he was, but he knew who he was _not_.

And he refused to be resentful. He refused to let envy eat away at him.

So he smiled as Elam recounted his tale, Alfreed and Etoile throwing in their own commentary every now and then.

" - and that is why we are covered in chicken fur, my Prince," Elam concluded, glaring at the other two, "I blame Alfreed and think you should remove her from the camp."

Alfreed instantly birstled, "Your Highness, this was _all_ Elam's fault."

"I am in agreement!" Etoile said.

Arslan turned his amused glance at Elam, trying to bite back a smile, "Two against one, Elam."

Elam huffed indignantly, "It was the fault of the chicken, then."

Arslan knew he should be disapproving of this. They had come across a village on their journey and were replenishing some supplies. It was rude to harass the local chicken farms.

But he was grinning too hard to get out a reprimand.

He wished he had been there.

"Anyway," Alfreed barked out, "That's not the most interesting part. We found this creature that I've never seen - "

"Your Highness!" Faragis called out, "Lord Narsus is asking for you."

Arslan felt his smile strain, but he corrected it easily, "Of course, I will be right there."

Aflreed, Elam and Etoile exchanged glances.

Arslan wondered what it was like to be them. His curiosity piqued, at the thought of the strange creature they were talking about. He could almost imagine them pulling him away to see it, laughing together under the heavens. They would create a diversion, and then they would run, and they would joke about kidnapping the Prince.

He could _almost_ imagine, but most days, he didn't quite remember _how_ to do so.

"Tell me more when I return?" Arslan asked instead.

"Of course," they promised.

That was all he could ask.

Arslan smiled.

He loved his friends deeply and dearly. Nothing could ever change that.

And just as nothing could change that, nothing could change the fact that Arslan was a Prince, and he had a duty to fulfill. No matter what his personal feelings were.

There was a slow curl in Arslan's chest. He can feel how it breathed, how it grew, how it became tighter and tighter. He let himself feel it, let himself feel the agony of the unfairness of the world. He felt the feeling spread.

Arslan held his breath, letting the feeling fester. And then, slowly, he breathed out.

Jealousy uncurled itself in his chest until it was nothing but a few loose strings.

And just like the love of his people, Arslan knew it would never go away. Not really.

And just like his smile, he learned to control it.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if this is a little disjointed.
> 
> Getting into Arslan's head it really hard. He is so kind and sweet, but there are not a lot of moments were his personality shines through, beyond that. I hope a I did him justice.
> 
> I always interprested Arslan as a really good actor, learning to smile. Being weak and invisible was the only way he survived palace life, and while he is no longer weak or invisible, he knows that he can't show weakness. So he smiles. It's his greatest weapon. I hope I was able to convey that in my writing.
> 
> There might be a part two that more fluffy and less angsty, but we'll see.


End file.
